You Know You're From

You Know You're From Louisiana/New Orleans When...

Nothing shocks you. Period. Ever.

You greet people with "Howzyamomma'an'dem?" and hear back "Dey fine!"

Every so often, you have waterfront property.

When giving directions you use words like "uptown," "downtown," "backatown," "riverside," "lakeside," "other side of the bayou" or "other side of the levee."

When you refer to a geographical location "way up North," you are referring to places like Shreveport, Little Rock or Memphis, "where it gets real cold."

You've ever had Community Coffee.

You can pronounce Tchoupitoulas but can't spell it.

You don't worry when you see ships riding higher in the river than the top of your house.

You judge a po-boy by the number of napkins used.

The waitress at your local sandwich shop tells you a fried oyster po-boy "dressed" is healthier than a Caesar salad.

You can eat Popeye's, Haydel's and Zapp's for lunch and wash it down with Barq's and several Abitas.

The four seasons in your year are: crawfish, shrimp, crab, and King Cake.

You don't learn until high school that Mardi Gras is not a national holiday.

You believe that purple, green and gold look good together.

Your last name isn't pronounced the way it's spelled.

You know what a nutria rat is but you still pick it to represent your baseball team.

You have spent a summer afternoon on the Lake Pontchartrain seawall catching blue crabs.

You describe a color as "K & B Purple."

You like your rice and politics dirty.

You pronounce the largest city in the state as "Nawlins."

You know those big roaches can fly, but you're able to sleep at night anyway.

You assume everyone has mosquito swarms in their backyard.

You know the rainforest is less humid than Louisiana.

You learn that a seat belt makes a pretty good branding iron.

You discover that you can get a sunburn through your car window.

When out of town, you stop and ask someone where there is a drive-through Daiquiri place, and they look at you like you have three heads.

You have flood insurance.

Your burial plot is six feet over rather than six feet under.

You consider a Bloody Mary a light breakfast.

You don't hesitate push little old ladies out of the way to catch Mardi Gras throws.

You leave a parade with footprints on the top of your hands.

You have a parade ladder in your shed.

Your first sentence was "Throw me something mistah" and your first drink was from a go-cup.

You worry about a deceased family member returning in spring floods.

You reply to anything and everything about life here with "Only in Nahlins".

You have a monogrammed go-cup.

You get on a bus marked "Cemeteries" and don't think twice.

You shake out your shoes before putting them on.

Your sunglasses fog up when you step outside.

No matter where else you go in the world, you are always disappointed in the food.

You get up in the morning and start cooking a pot of rice before you give any thought to what you'll fix for dinner.

When it starts to rain, you cover your beer instead of your head.

Your house payment is less than your air conditioning bill.

Your grandparents are called "Maw Maw" and "Paw Paw."

You fall asleep to the soothing sounds of four box fans.

No one eats healthy. Fried Batter is actually a menu item in some restaurants.

You reinforce your attic to store Mardi Gras beads.

Your baby's first words are "gumbo" and "whereyat".

You save newspapers, not for recycling but for tablecloths at crawfish boils.

You know to get on a green trolley car to go to the park and a red one to the French Quarter.

You walk on the "banquet" (sidewalk) and stand in the "neutral ground" (area of ground between a two sided street) "by ya mommas" (by your mother's house).

Someone asks for directions and you stop and help them with a smile

You start an angel food cake with a roux.

Watching "Wild Kingdom" inspires you to write a cookbook.

You think a lobster is a crawfish on steroids.

You think boudin, hogshead cheese, and a Bud is a bland diet.

You take a bite of five-alarm chili and reach for the Tabasco.

Fred's Lounge in Mamou means more to you than the Grand Ole Opry.

You have an *envie* for something instead of a craving.

You use a "#3" washtub to cover your lawn mower or your outboard motor.

You use two or more pirogues to cover your tomatoes to protect them from the late frost.

You use a gill net to play tennis, badminton, or volleyball.

The horsepower of your outboard motor is greater than that of your car motor.

You pass up a trip abroad to go to the Crawfish Festival in Breaux Bridge.

The four basic food groups are boiled seafood, broiled seafood, fried seafood and beer.

You describe a link of boudin and cracklins as "breakfast."

None of your potential vacation destinations are north of the old Mississippi River Bridge (US 190).

You refer to Louisiana winters as "Gumbo Weather."

You get a disappointing look from your wife and describe it as, "She passed me a pair of eyes."

You think of gravy as a beverage.

You greet your long lost friend at the Lafayette Regional Airport with "AAAAAAAYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE."

You sit down to eat boiled crawfish and your host says, "Don't eat the dead ones," and you know what he means.

You don't know the real names of your friends, only their nicknames.

You give up Tabasco for Lent

Your loved one dies and you book a jazz band before you call the coroner.

Your accent sounds nothing like Harry Connick, Jr's.

When a hurricane is imminent, you have a lot more faith in Nash Roberts than some Super Doppler 6000.

Your town is low on the education chart, high on the obesity chart and you don't care because you're No. 1 on the party chart.

Being in a jam at Tulane and Broad isn't the same as being stuck in traffic.

Your idea of health food is a baked potato instead of fries with your seafood platter.

You have to take your coffee and favorite coffeemaker with you on a three-day trip.

You have sno-ball stains on your shoes.

Your middle name is your mother's maiden name, or your father's mother's maiden name, or your mother's mother's maiden name, or your grandmother's mother's maiden name, or your grandfather's mother's maiden name.

You've done your laundry in a bar.

You don't show your "pretties" during Mardi Gras.

You know that Tchoupitoulas is a street and not a disease.

You "boo" the mayor on national television.

You wear sweaters in because it ought to be cold.

Your Santa Claus rides an alligator and your favorite Saint is a football player.

You suck heads, eat tail, sing the blues and you actually know where you got them shoes.

You don't think it inappropriate to refer to a large adult male as "Li'l Bubba."

You know why you should never, ever swim by the Lake Pontchartrain steps (for more than one reason).

You cringe every time you hear an actor with a Southern or Cajun accent in a "New Orleans-based" movie or TV show.

You have to reset your clocks after every thunderstorm.

You waste more time navigating back streets than you would if you just sat in traffic.

You still call the Fairmont Hotel, the Roosevelt.

You consider garbage cans a legal step to protecting your parking space on a public street.

You eat dinner out and spend the entire meal talking about all the other good places you've eaten.